To Dream in the City of Sorrows (14 page)

He wished the Minbari would hurry it up.

Strangely enough, it was the Vorlon who finally came to fetch Sinclair back to the hall.

“It is time,” said Ulkesh. “It begins now. Forget all but that. Come.”

The Vorlon turned and walked away, leading the way back to the Great Hall. When Sinclair entered, it looked much as he had left it, with everyone back in their seats except Neroon, who again stood within the circle. But the expression on the warrior’s face was quite different this time, haughty disdain replaced by angry disappointment.

“Ambassador,” said Jenimer. “If you will take your place before the assembled councils.”

Sinclair walked to the center of the circle, and stood facing Neroon.

“The elders of the military caste,” said Neroon with undisguised animosity, “have joined with the honored Satai of the military caste to agree to the proposal to recommission the Anla’shok to full military readiness, to allow both the religious caste and the worker caste to join, if they can qualify ...”

There was a long pause. This was clearly difficult for Neroon. “And to allow Humans to join also – as long as certain conditions are met. First, it must be understood that while we give permission for the Anla’shok to be trained to once again take on the role they had in the last Shadow war, they are not to be used to start a war where none yet exists. They will continue to observe and to gather intelligence, give aid to our friends and allies among the other worlds where such help serves the common good, and to defend themselves when necessary. But they will take no action that will attract unwanted attention from the Shadows to Minbar.”

Neroon turned to Jenimer, expecting him to answer. But the Minbari leader nodded to Sinclair to respond.

“Agreed,” Sinclair said.

Neroon turned to face Sinclair. “You may assume the title and function as Ranger One, but not the designation of Entil’Zha until you can prove yourself worthy of that title.”

“To that also, I agree fully.”

Neroon bowed to Jenimer and left the hall as doors all along the back walls opened. Without further ceremony, the Caste Elders filed out in silence after him.

Sinclair stayed where he was, not quite sure what to do. The Grey Council had not yet moved, nor had Jenimer, and no acolytes appeared to escort the new Ranger One out.

After what seemed like several minutes, the Grey Council stood as one, and filed out in silence. This left only Sinclair, Jenimer, and Ulkesh in the Great Hall. There was another minute of silence, and then Jenimer spoke.

“Your presentation, though most effective, was not ... quite the display of gentle diplomacy I had been led to expect from your record of achievements on Babylon 5.”

“There is a time for gentle diplomacy, Chosen One, and a time for clear, straightforward, no-holds-barred truth,” Sinclair said. “It seemed to me a little plain talk now would save us a lot of misunderstanding down the road.”

“I learned a wonderful expression from Delenn,” said Jenimer. “She said you taught it to her on Babylon 5. I believe the correct phrase is ‘It will be a pleasure doing business with you.’“

Sinclair laughed and then nodded. “Maybe so.”

C
HAPTER 11

“MITCHELL! Break off! Break off!” Too late. Starfury after Starfury blown to bits, exploding like miniature suns around him. Every ship of his squadron gone. Every Earth ship in his field of view destroyed.

“Not like this! Not like this! If I’m going out, I’m taking you bastards with me ...”

Sinclair stood in a circle of light, surrounded by moving shadowy shapes.

“Who are you?” Sinclair could barely force the words out. “Why are you doing this?”

The Grey Council, hooded and silent, stepped out of the shadows. A voice reverberated through the oppressive stillness. “The council will render its verdict.”

One by one, the Minbari pulled back the hoods of their cloaks. Delenn. Rathenn. Racine. Jenimer. Neroon. Turval. No one spoke.

Jenimer walked over to him, held up the Triluminary, its center stone glowing. Sinclair turned, and the mirror to his right revealed him transformed into a Minbari, dressed in brown robes. In the background he saw Kosh. Sinclair whirled around.

“Kosh!”

But it wasn’t Kosh. It was Ulkesh, standing alone outside the circle of light, all the Minbari having vanished.

“You are what we say,” said the Vorlon.

Sinclair turned back to the mirror, and again he saw Kosh. Peering at his own reflection, he reached up hesitantly and touched the Minbari bone crest on top of his skull.

This time it was Kosh who spoke. “Do not forget who you are, Jeffrey Sinclair.”

Sinclair grabbed hold of the crest and began ripping the bone from his flesh and bones, as intense pain washed over him ...

Sinclair’s head snapped forward, and the computer notebook and loose papers he had been reading when he drifted off to sleep fell from his lap. He bent to pick them up from the sitting room floor, which was a mistake; when he straightened again, a sharp stab of pain went from his temples through the crown of his head.

“Damn!” he said, disgusted with himself. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. It was morning already and he had spent his last night in Yedor asleep on the hard, angular chair in his sitting room. Only absolute exhaustion had made that possible. Every muscle in his body ached, and his head throbbed with pain.

After years of patiently waiting to get to this point, the Minbari were now in a frenzied hurry. He had returned to his quarters after the convocation to find a stack of files on prospective Human candidates for the Rangers. He had read late into the night, making notes and recommendations, only to be awakened the next morning by a knock on his door several hours earlier than usual. He was taken to a medical facility where a group of Minbari physicians ran every conceivable test on him and took what felt to Sinclair like several dozen gallons of his blood. After he nearly passed out, the physicians apologized profusely, explaining that they still didn’t know much about human physiology. These tests would help them learn how to keep him and the other Human Rangers healthy in the time ahead.

Then he had been taken back to his quarters to pack and continue reading as many of the files as he could – which he had done to the point of exhaustion, falling asleep where he sat.

How much time did he have before Rathenn would arrive to escort him to the transport ship taking them all to the historic Ranger compound in Tuzanor?

The knock on his door answered the question – it was Rathenn and a couple of acolytes. Sinclair knew it wasn’t good protocol to keep the Chosen One waiting, but neither was showing up disheveled and unshaven.

“Just give me a couple of minutes to at least shave and change clothes,” he said to Rathenn.

“An excellent idea,” Rathenn agreed, a little too enthusiastically.

When Sinclair emerged from the bathroom again, he found Rathenn holding a set of Minbari clothing draped over one arm, a pair of boots on the floor next to him. “Today you officially assume your role as Ranger One,” he said. “I am honored to present this to you, the traditional uniform of the Anla’shok Na.”

Rathenn was at last getting his wish to have Sinclair dressed in traditional Minbari clothing, and this time Sinclair couldn’t argue, having previously lectured Rathenn on the importance of dressing in a manner appropriate for the job. He took the garments from Rathenn who bowed and left.

Sinclair examined and then donned the clothes, recognizing them to be similar to what Turval had been wearing: a pair of fitted trousers and a shirt with a cowl neck, over which went a belted waistcoat, all made from a sturdy charcoal-gray material. In contrast was the final piece, a brown-patterned, floor-length coat with full sleeves and hood, which was made from a cloth that felt similar to silk and flowed about the uniform like a cape. It seemed a little impractical for a soldier’s uniform, but Sinclair assumed this was more a dress uniform than fighting garb. He pulled on the boots and stood up, feeling a little awkward in the unfamiliar clothing.

In for a penny, in for a pound, his father had been fond of saying. With a small twinge of regret, Sinclair packed away his clothes from Earth and left his quarters in Yedor for the last time.

“The name Tuzanor,” Jenimer said as the transport ship sped high over Minbar’s landscape, “comes from a phrase in the ancient Na’sen dialect of the religious caste that means the City of Sorrows. It is said to have been Valen’s favorite place on all of Minbar.”

Sinclair was sitting with Jenimer and Rathenn in a forward cabin above the cockpit. Turval had gone ahead to Tuzanor, as apparently had Ulkesh.

“Why does it have such a somber name?” Sinclair asked.

“In the Dark Time,” said Jenimer, “when Minbari still fought Minbari, and bloody wars raged continually across our planet, the most terrible battle of our history was fought on that site. More than a million Minbari soldiers died in one long day of savage fighting. The brutality and utter futility of that battle so shocked Minbari on both sides of the war that they finally sought a peaceful solution to their problems. Together they decreed that the battlefield site would forever more be dedicated to peace, healing, and prophecy. Which is why it is said that to dream in the City of Sorrows, is to dream of a better future.”

“That is ... an agreeable notion,” Sinclair said.

“Most Minbari think so,” said Jenimer. “It is common for the young to make at least one pilgrimage there for that purpose.”

“It seems an unusual place for a military base, however,” said Sinclair.

“Valen chose the ancient city for the first gathering of the Rangers and constructed their base nearby because he wanted them to train for battle where they would also be able to see the sacred city, and therefore never forget they were fighting for one purpose only, to restore peace and freedom for all.”

“It’s a good thought,” Sinclair said. “But what did the people of Tuzanor think? Did they object to having soldiers training for war so near their city?”

“Not the people of Tuzanor. Only some elements of the military caste. They were afraid good soldiers couldn’t be created in a place of peace. But Valen prevailed, and today the Anla’shok have the strongest support among the people of Tuzanor than anywhere else on Minbar.”

Upon arriving, Sinclair was struck by how different the City of Sorrows was from the teeming capital city Yedor. While most definitely Minbari in its character, Yedor nonetheless had reminded Sinclair of many large cities he had seen, with its skyscrapers, traffic, bustling commerce, busy citizens, even the occasional touches of off-world influence.

But there was a far more tranquil atmosphere to the sacred city of Tuzanor. Nestled in a high valley between two spectacular ranges of snow-capped mountains, it seemed more singularly Minbari. There were no modern buildings made of high-tech materials to resemble the ancient style; every building was an ancient one carved into the crystalline outcroppings, none more than a few stories high. Each was set in its own little park or – in the case of the temples – its own large and elaborate park. While there were many temples, there were many more waterfalls and fountains, far more than even Yedor, which Sinclair had thought contained more waterfalls and fountains per square mile than anyplace he had ever seen. And all of it, Rathenn had explained, except for the most private living quarters, was open for the use and appreciation of all. When Minbari made their pilgrimages here, they did not stay in the equivalent of hotels, for there were none. Visitors stayed and were welcomed by whomever had a free room or spare bed.

Not surprisingly, Sinclair found the Minbari here to be somewhat different from Yedor; less hurried, more leisurely, and certainly friendlier. Though he supposed his Ranger uniform might have had some bearing on that. Certainly, no one seemed surprised to see him wearing it.

After their short walk through the streets of Tuzanor, the purpose of which seemed to be to introduce Sinclair to the city, and the city to Sinclair, they continued by flyer to the Ranger compound, situated in the foothills of the northern mountain range on a wide plateau that overlooked the city. It afforded a spectacular view from above, but relative seclusion and privacy from below.

They were greeted on arrival by Turval. Sinclair noted that the former Ranger One was now wearing a slightly different Ranger uniform of the same basic design, but with an overcoat made of the same type of material as the uniform beneath and cut to fall straight and narrow to the body. Sinclair decided it would be a lot easier to fight an opponent in that coat than in the one he was wearing.

He asked Turval for a tour of the facilities; to his surprise, Jenimer and Rathenn accompanied them. He was shown every inch of the large but efficiently laidout base. As with all the architecture he had seen on Minbar, the buildings were built to fit unobtrusively and pleasingly into the natural landscape. There were comfortable barracks for upward of nine thousand Rangers – although only one of the nine buildings was currently in use, and that only partially. There were three temples; three training fields that included an elaborate obstacle course; wilderness survival and surveillance training courses; a weapons training area contained three buildings for martial arts training, and three outdoor fields for various types of target practice. There was a large airfield with nine hangars, also all closed but one. And there was a large central complex of classrooms and administrative offices that was arranged, to no surprise of Sinclair’s, in groups of three and nine. The Minbari, he knew, had a remarkable obsession with those numbers.

Only one building stood by itself, and Sinclair was shown this last: a small but comfortable structure that was to be Sinclair’s residence.

“I apologize for throwing you out of your home,” said Sinclair to Turval as the tour of his new home finished. The old Minbari Ranger seemed puzzled, then his eyes widened slightly.

“Oh, no,” said Turval. “I have never lived here, nor has any other Anla’shok Na since Valen. Only an Entil'Zha may live here.”